


Princesses of the Pastry

by diapason



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bonding, Dysphoria, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Makeup, anyway eret and niki are best coworkers turned siblings, for some reason that wasn't a pre-made tag but the he pronouns and the they pronouns were?, grocery AU, idk i usually write they eret so ive never had to look for it, oh well, she/her pronouns for eret, terrible tagging system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28763970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diapason/pseuds/diapason
Summary: Or, Eret’s having a she day, and Niki knows just how to make her feel like the prettiest princess in the grocery store.
Relationships: Eret & Niki | Nihachu, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 303
Collections: Dream SMP Grocery Store AU, Fanfics I’d eat again at 3 am and already have





	Princesses of the Pastry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribble_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribble_stars/gifts), [Tonne_doe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonne_doe/gifts), [ameliamazing1603](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ameliamazing1603).
  * Inspired by [DreamSMP Grocery Store AU headcannons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393056) by [getouttamyswamp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/getouttamyswamp/pseuds/getouttamyswamp). 



> dedicated to the 3 ppl who asked for it! love you writer's block gang <3
> 
> tw for this whole fic being centred around amab dysphoria!

Some days Eret really wants to grow her hair out. This is one of those days.

She knows she’s not the most feminine person on staff. That honour almost definitely goes to Niki - Niki and her soft skin, Niki and her sparkly eyeshadow, Niki and her sweet smile that’s definitely better suited to greeting customers than Eret’s usual expression of mild repressed discomfort under pressed lips when she silently checks stranger after stranger out with cupcakes and pastries and rolls across the day.

She’s silent today, lips pressed shut as much as she can possibly manage, because the baritone’s just not doing it for her at the moment, and she’s doing all she can to forget it’s her natural vocal range at all.

The trouble with being nonbinary is that _most_ days you’re completely fine with the body you’ve got, or at least neutrally apathetic towards it, but sometimes it just… _gets_ to you in a way you can’t really articulate, and definitely not to cis people like Niki or the strangers in line. She catches a glimpse of her arm hair as she’s handing off a sausage roll and a drink, and curses genetics for ensuring she’d be warm in the winter, because central heating exists and it’s just left her looking a bit too masculine for her current mood. Should’ve worn sleeves. Or a bralette, for that matter, she decides as her shoulders move at just the right angle for her to remember there’s no straps today, because she’d been confident that her usual androgyny would work today as it does most days when she got dressed. Something to feel like there’s something there would be nice.

And the hair - it’s like an uncomfortable cloud clinging to the sides of her head and face today, too close, too short, too curled up tight against her skin to feel as voluminous as she really wants it to. Most days it’s just another part of her - fun to ruffle, at least, and nice to run your fingers through if it’s brushed - but today it’s too short and making her feel _manly_ and while she can keep her mouth shut to hide the voice there’s nothing she can do to make her hair longer in the middle of a shift at work.

So she suffers through, hands off goods fresh off the bakery press for a couple of hours, and tries not to make eye contact with Niki whenever she comes bearing trays every ten minutes or so.

Niki notices, of course. How could she not?

Which means that when they’re in the break room after her first of two shifts, and Eret’s nursing a cup of tea (reminds her of home, safe, familiar, comforting) while Niki rifles through her cupboard for biscuits that the boys haven’t stolen already, she comes over to offer Eret an Oreo wordlessly and sits down beside her.

“How was your shift?”

Niki hums. “Alright. All I did was bake and move the trays out front. Same as usual. You?”

“Good.” It’s a little easier to look past the depth of her voice when it’s just her and Niki alone in the break room, but there’s still a reverberation about it that gently shudders her tendons and makes her keep her responses clipped and short.

“You’ve been quiet.”

Eret nods and sips her drink.

“Any… particular reason?”

“I’m alright.”

Niki holds her eye contact - steady, unbreaking. She can look right into Eret’s soul if she wants to, most days. Today it feels like there’s a glass wall in the way of Niki’s efforts to understand her friend’s emotions, and Eret likes it that way. She likes being a little bit distanced right now. Because if Niki could actually see every thought that’s been plaguing her all morning…

“You’re sure.”

“Yes.”

“Okay then.”

Niki takes another bite of her biscuit, and Eret’s struck by the smallness, the daintiness of it all, how Niki looks like a damn princess with her skin and her eyeshadow and her smile as she pick a few stray crumbs up off her glossy lips with her tongue and then reapplies the coat of chapstick - how much she wishes, fucking _wishes_ she could be that pretty right now.

“And you’ll come to me, right, Eret, if you need anything?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Good.

And then it’s back to work.

The smile’s a little more strained with every “thanks, man!” and “hey, bro” offered by the odd customer who seems to have nothing better to do with their day than needlessly gender the one stranger they really should avoid doing that to - because she’s not a fucking man and she’s not their fucking brother. And yes, normally gendered words like these don’t bother her, but today of all days, it’s different and it’s painful and it _matters_ to Eret that they think she looks like a man, like their bro, like someone who’s comfortable in her own skin in the same way they are.

She wonders if any of them have trans friends, trans relatives. If they even know what ‘nonbinary’ means. If they’d cuss her out for knowing the person who just touched their lunch to put it in a serving bag was queer.

If she’s obvious. If she’s stealth right now. If people can tell.

Of course they can’t tell. She’s dressed for androgyny, which means t-shirt and jeans underneath the branded bakery apron, nothing special, nothing feminine, which is a little bit of a curse but absolutely a blessing for the sudden onset paranoia that everyone in line can _tell_ she’s different by the way she looks. She shifts her shoulders, trying to stand a little more like a man, and feels her mind cry out in protest - the reassurance of _they can’t tell you feel girly_ battles the discomfort of _you look absolutely manly_ and it makes it that bit harder to hear everyone’s orders as morning fades into afternoon and the lunch rush begins. And she definitely can’t get off work now, because it’s lunch rush, she can’t leave Niki alone to deal with this, she can’t be covered for on this short notice, so she suffers through the complaining in her brain and grits her teeth through every order and every “hey, bro” and “thanks, man!” and gets her job done in silence.

She finds herself staring down at her watch, eyes darting between product and countdown timer, at least twice per order until the blessed chimes of 2pm hit and she sees Cara snake her way past the line and head through the back door to take over from Niki, which means that someone’s gonna be along soon to take her spot too, which means she can finally get out of this stupid apron and into - well, maybe not something more comfortable, because she didn’t bring any skirts or anything along, but definitely into a more peaceful environment. The moment the queue finally thins out for the first time in nearly three hours, there’s a tap on her shoulder, and she gratefully ducks out to let Tubbo take his place at the cash register. He’s absolutely welcome to it at this point.

“Eret!” It’s Niki again, rummaging through her bag to make sure she’s got all her belongings, lit up in a beautiful smile to see her friend return. “How are you feeling?”

Eret shrugs. The glass wall feels double-glazed now, or maybe vaccuum-sealed. Like it’s thicker, built up stronger, but a single pressure point could shatter it into a million crackly little pieces. Here goes hoping Niki will be gentle.

“Is there something wrong?”

Another shrug. Eret pulls the apron off, folds it up at neatly as she can at top speed, and sticks it in her own backpack before slinging on her coat to just get the hell out of here, get home, and get some rest and reprieve -

“Eret, please talk to me. You know I want to help you if there’s a problem. Can you please just tell me?”

She pauses with one hand on the doorknob to freedom. The thought of speaking with this voice is making her blood run cold and icy sharp, so she doesn’t.

But she does pull out her phone.

_off day, not on for talking._

Niki seems surprised to feel the buzz in her own coat pocket, and her eyebrows fall when she reads the text. “Okay. Do you want to hang out this afternoon?”

_don’t you have plans?_

“I was just going to spend the day in town. There’s a few places I’ve been meaning to window shop for a little while - it’s been a few months since I had money left over, but with this last paycheck I’ve got a little to spare on… I don’t know, a dress or something. Does that - would you be interested in joining me?”

She knows Eret too well.

_lead the way, my friend_

That’s how they end up catching the bus to town, Eret still feeling a little too tall and big and out-of-place (a bit of an alien next to the fairy queen who walks before her, shocking pink and sparkly peach, smiling like she knows exactly what a gift of a friend she is), but… cared for, nonetheless. The first place Niki wants to visit is Hollister - a bit of a strange choice for the season, in Eret’s opinion, given that they’ve just slipped into autumn and Hollister feels very much the summer clothing destination to her, but what Niki wants Niki will get on a day like today.

“I’m not sure about this one,” she muses, holding up a black number patterned with pink-and-yellow pointed flowers, and with a strange neck that crosses itself over on the front and straightens out at the back, “do you think it goes with the new hair?”

_i’m sure it will,_ she thumbs out, after careful deliberation.

“Yeah, it’s just… I’m not sure when I would wear it. And it’s very short. Hollister do love their short skirts.”

_as if you can’t rock a miniskirt *eyeroll*_

“Hey, speak for yourself! I think I’ll leave this one. Now, this top, I’m much more interested in…”

As Niki flits through the shop, browsing cheerfully, she’s careful never to leave Eret behind, pausing before every corner and taking the extra few seconds to fold whatever her latest object of desire is back up neatly and put it where it came from with the courtesy only a fellow retail worker can really provide. Eret finds herself lost in thought more often than she really should be, running a finger down floral prints and soft cottons she passes in Niki’s wake, wondering if she’s brave enough to try any of this stuff on today or if she’ll need to wait for later. There’s a strange paradoxicality to it all - somehow, the days she feels closer to womanhood than any other are the days she feels least comfortable making steps to attain it. If she’s not safe at home when she gets the urge to reflect herself in this particular way, it’s not happening. See also the fear of not being stealth enough - the more feminine she’s feeling, the more worried she is that people can tell, and the more anxious it makes her that they might do something about it.

Nothing Niki would understand. All she can do is keep Eret close behind and tell her all about the pros and cons of every cut of jeans until it drowns out the worst of the overthinking. But, of course, that’s more help than anybody else has provided today.

They move from Hollister to Forever 21, to Abercrombie, to H&M, as Niki quickly decides that she’s seeing far too many oranges and yellows for the peachy pink look she’s intending to encapsulate until her hair dye fades, far too many palettes catered to the season and not enough that cater to her - although she is self-aware enough about that to turn it into a joke of her own. “How dare they,” she mock-complains, and it actually summons a quiet laugh from Eret - she hadn’t been expecting that.

“Would you like to get some food?”

_sure, where were you thinking of?_

“I don’t know. Somewhere quiet. Maybe we can get sandwiches and go find a park bench somewhere.”

And so that’s exactly what they do - although Eret’s not quite fast enough to stop Niki from paying for the subs herself once they’re ordered.

_your dress money :(_

“Don’t be silly,” Niki chides good-naturedly. There’s an unspoken _this is more important._

Niki’s just started to tear into her sandwich (which is fair enough, Eret supposes, given that she’s not eaten since those Oreos earlier) when Eret realises she’s in a rare moment of confidence to speak, and she seizes it.

“Thank you, Niki.”

She pauses around her bite. Careful not to choke on food. She must have been very surprised to hear that.

“There’s no problem at all,” is her answer, once she’s finished chewing, “I’ve had a wonderful afternoon with you.”

“It’s just -” and here Eret falters, failing to reach for the words that mean _what else do you do when everything about you feels wrong but shut up and get over it,_ searching for a way to properly convey the significance of Niki’s sweetness on a day where everything else has left such a sour taste in her mouth that she’s still not quite ready for her sandwich. “You know I’m nonbinary.”

“I do.”

“Bad day to be male, is all.”

Niki nods, pensive. “More of a she day or a they day?”

“Definitely she,” she affirms.

“That’s alright. Hey, I’m sorry - I bet you felt very left out, me looking at all those clothes and not taking a moment to ask how they might look on you.”

“No, no, I…” The concept’s too nebulous, too sparse and huge in scope to put into words unless you’ve Known the feeling. “I couldn’t.”

“I’ve seen you wear dresses in public before,” Niki counters.

“Those -” she stumbles again “- not on days like these.”

“I will admit I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Eret reassures. “It’s enough for you to… be there.”

“Hey,” she begins, after another few bites of sandwich, “would you like to go back to my place?”

And Eret does genuinely consider this, but she knows there was always only going to be one answer.

It’s around 4:25 when she’s sitting on Niki’s bed, reading back an argument on the work group chat (Tommy causing trouble, again, because Tommy’s never not causing trouble - something about a misplaced keycard and starting shit with customers for no reason? She doesn’t want to get into it, so she reads without contribution as the company goes up in flames again) and hear Niki whirl around with something in her hands, yelling, “Ta-da!”

“Hm?” she asks for elaboration, in the most minimal way possible, because the speaking thing’s kicked back in since their conversation ended, but she’s still going to try her best to suffer through.

“I knew I had a palette for you stashed away somewhere - and here it is!”

She cocks her head, trying to convey, _a palette?_

“Are you up for a makeover today?”

Oh, an eyeshadow palette.

It’s actually a tougher decision than she expected it to be. On the one hand, she’ll have to wash this off before she leaves to combat the fires of paranoia that never really die in her mind, and it’s hard to shake the feeling that using Niki’s precious, expensive-looking makeup products on _her_ would be little more than a waste of time. On the other hand… There’s a lot of glitter shades in there.

And damn it if she doesn’t want to be pretty more than she wants to hide.

“Sure.”

Niki keeps it simple - she sticks to a very basic eye look, checking with Eret every step of the way exactly what she’s comfortable with putting on, amicably accepting nods and shakes and nose scrunches as responses where her coworkers might tell her off for improper communication, smiling just a little bit brighter (from what Eret can see past the brush) every time she gets a verbal response. It picks her mood up enough to get another proper statement out as Niki cleans powder off the fibres of the brush again.

“You know you’re beautiful, right, Niki?”

“So I’ve been told,” she grins. “You’re beautiful too.”

She doesn’t respond, because responding would be too much like accepting, and her mind is really bad at accepting compliments even on a good day. Instead, she angles her face so Niki can reach her eyes with the brush more easily.

“It’s going to look lovely, just you wait and see, my love,” Niki murmurs in full concentration, and Eret has to fight to stay still and not move her head away at the platonic pet name. Because they do love each other - they’re probably best friends at this point, bakery brothers-in-arms, neither of which would particularly care to be a brother… grocery girls?

Well. Not full girl. Still thoroughly nonbinary. But it’s way more comfortable of a thought today.

Sausage roll siblings. Daughters of the dough. Food-provision family.

Weird how a friendship forged in a matter of months with a coworker is the strongest one she’s got at the moment - but their whole staff are pretty much a very strange, ragtag family at this point, one Eret and Niki are a little less strongly attached to, but a family they can confide in nonetheless.

“And my hair,” Eret recalls, without really meaning to say it out loud.

“What about it?” Niki pulls away and puts the brush down as Eret opens her eyes at the newfound space between them.

“Oh. It’s short.”

“Would you like me to brush it out?”

“Possibly.”

She’s off to grab the hairbrush without another word.

And it’s not as long as it yearns to be even with the brushing out - it won’t be long enough without plenty of time and patience on Eret’s part - but instead of clumping up around her ears and curling up the back of her neck, it is smoothed by Niki’s gentle ministrations into what could almost pass as a short bob if you were squinting. And that’s… really nice. It makes her feel prettier, as does the sensation of tiny dust particles falling into her eyelashes if she messes with her eyebrows.

“Hey, hands off my masterpiece!”

“Sorry,” she chuckles.

“Lipstick?”

“Not today.”

“That’s okay. And I had one more finishing touch I wanted to add to your look…” She disappears again, digging through a drawer just out of Eret’s line of sight. She returns with something shiny.

“Is that -”

“We can match!” Niki explains gleefully, splitting her gift into two identical accessories that Eret had assumed were one larger item at first. “Pink and gold for me, green and silver for you. It’s perfect, don’t you think?”

And Eret has to admit that when Niki slips the tiara into her hair and holds up the handmirror to display both of their reflections, she does look about as perfect as she could hope for on a day like this. Sparkly eyeshadow, crowned queen of Niki’s bedroom, and almost unnoticeably, longer hair.

“We can be the princesses of the pastry,” Niki jokes, and this time Eret’s laugh is louder. She feels comfortable, here, now, in a t-shirt and jeans and beautiful make-up and a huge, genuine smile. She feels cared for. She feels safe.

Some days turn out a lot better than you expect them to. Some days, you don’t have to shut up and suffer though - some days you’re noticed and you’re loved.

This is one of those days.

**Author's Note:**

> idk man it's 3am i hope you liked it smile


End file.
